Gail Sattler - Changing Her Heart

While she waited, the young man approached Randy.

“Can you tell her that coffee is good enough, that she doesn’t have to make something without alcohol for people?”

Randy’s hands froze above the display he was rearranging. “That’s a very common myth, but it’s not true. Coffee doesn’t make a person sober up, neither does food. If you have something in your stomach you don’t get drunk so fast, but you still get just as drunk. The only thing that sobers a person up is time.”

The young man blinked. “That’s not true. Coffee works.”

Randy shook his head. “No. Coffee won’t sober you up. It just makes you a wide-awake drunk. Caffeine is a stimulant. It’s the stimulant that makes you think you’re more sober than you actually are.”

“That’s not true, man. I know it works.”

Lacey glanced toward the young woman to make sure she didn’t need any more help, then stepped closer to the two men. She, too, had always believed that drinking coffee would help a person to sober up. She’d been with Susan often, helping to make coffee so it would be ready for when Eric got home after an evening of being out with his friends.

The only thing wrong with that scenario was that Eric had already driven home by the time he started drinking the coffee.

Randy pulled out one of the brochures and handed it to the young man. “Sorry, but the only thing about coffee that sobers you up is the time it takes to drink it. Water does the same, except it doesn’t make you need to go to the bathroom as much, and it doesn’t leave you hyper.”

The young man slapped the brochure onto the table without opening it. “I don’t need this propaganda.”

Randy picked up a pen, scribbled something on the brochure, then handed it back. “Then check out this coffee manufacturer’s Web site or check out a few search engines. Everything will tell you the same thing. If your guests drink, have a designated driver, or be a responsible host and budget money for cab fare. In some states, the host may be held legally responsible if their guests drive home drunk and have an accident.”

The young man froze. “What?”

Randy crossed his arms over his chest. “Think about it.”

The young man stepped back, and stomped to the lady he’d arrived with. She quickly picked out one of every brochure in the row, and the two of them hurried away.

Lacey stared at Randy. “How do you know all that stuff?”

“I just do.”

She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

“Randy, I was wondering—”

Behind her, a middle-aged man entered the display area, cutting off her question.

“Excuse me. I was wondering if you could tell me some information about roadside suspensions.”

Randy pointed to the police officer who was on the other side of the display area. “He’s the man to ask about legal matters.”

The man backed up a step. “No way. I’m not asking the police. I’m only asking about it for a friend.”

From the looks of the man’s bloodshot eyes, Lacey found that highly unlikely.

“I really can’t comment,” Randy said, “but if you want to know at what point blood alcohol levels result in a roadside suspension, you can read these brochures.”

Randy picked brochures off a number of piles, gathered them together, then offered the man one specifically on suspensions.

Lacey’s throat tightened. Roadside suspensions were much more common today than when she was a child. If her father’s license had been suspended, he might still be alive, and her life would have been very different.

The man reached out and accepted all of the pamphlets.

Randy stepped back and tapped a picture of a man in a jail cell, presumably the drunk tank. “But before you think of the legal ramifications, you should think about what it would be like to be without your car. After court, a twenty-four-hour suspension could go further, resulting in a driving prohibition, plus a fine, depending on the severity of the offence and prior records. If that happened, how would you get to work? What would you say to people who asked why you always needed a ride wherever you went? You’d have to worry about increased insurance premiums once you get your license back, on top of all that. Ask yourself if it’s worth it to have a few drinks before getting into the car.”

The man’s face paled and he dropped all the brochures but one. “I’ll tell my friend that,” he muttered, turned and walked away.

“Wow,” Lacey exclaimed. “You’re good here. No wonder you’re doing this. You know so much.”

“Yeah,” Randy said quickly, then spun around and began to straighten out the brochures the man with the bloodshot eyes had dropped.

Lacey stepped closer. “All I was going to do was smile and hand out brochures. You’re really getting up close and personal. You’re having quite an effect on people.”

“It’s a gift,” Randy mumbled, not looking up at her.

She stared at him as he continued to tidy up piles she thought were quite straight enough.

She knew Randy was very inconvenienced being unable to take his car to work due to the increased parking security, and it impressed her that he was using that knowledge and experience in a constructive way.

Unless he knew so much about having a driver’s license suspended from more personal experience….

Lacey shook her head at the wayward direction of her thoughts. The concept that Randy could ever have had his license suspended because of drinking was preposterous. They had been out together for supper at a restaurant where alcoholic drinks were readily available, and the issue hadn’t even come up. Randy was also a committed Christian, active in his church. The only reason he didn’t have his car was because of the new parking regulations.

Which reminded her that Randy currently needed transportation.

Lacey spoke quickly, before someone else came to browse at the display. “Would you like a ride home again tonight?”

He smiled hesitantly.

Lacey’s foolish heart fluttered.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks.”

“Maybe we can do dinner again and talk more about Bryce’s computer? I don’t want to wait until the last minute and run out of time.”

“Sure. We can do that.”

“Then I’ll see you at five.”

The new volunteer arrived at the booth, right on time, ending their conversation. Randy waved to the police officer at the other end to signal his pending departure, and turned back to Lacey.

“See you later,” he said, and walked away.

Adrian Braithwaite unplugged the cord from between his guitar and the amp, wound it, fastened the Velcro strap and tossed it into the bin.

“You were late today,” he said as he watched Randy unplug another cord and do the same. “I thought you were going to be early. I even bought extra doughnuts.”

“I can’t take my car to work anymore.”

“That didn’t really answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

Adrian waited for Randy to say more, but Randy didn’t elaborate. Not only did he not elaborate, Randy didn’t come up with a hundred and one farfetched excuses, nor did he respond with a lame joke. He was also very busy cleaning up instead of hiding in the kitchen eating the extra half a box of doughnuts while everyone else put everything away.

Something wasn’t right. And Adrian was going to find out what it was.

“Then how did you get to work?”

“I’ve been using my inline skates.”

Adrian frowned. “Really? Why didn’t you just take the bus? Oh, wait.” Adrian paused, remembering incidents from their younger days when he, Bob, Randy and their other friend Paul had taken the bus on many of their excursions. He couldn’t count the times they all had to disembark in a hurry because Randy had to go throw up, even when they sat in the front while they traveled to their chosen destination of the day. Randy’s parents laughed it off, but Bob’s mother always came to give them a ride whenever Randy couldn’t get back on the bus after being so violently sick.